


big jim vs joyce's fantasies

by ficfucker



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Forced Feminization, Tags to be added, cross dressing, this is mild for me but? enjoy anyway, wanted to make something kinky so here we are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12817884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: ever wanna imagine david harbour in panties? now you can





	1. Chapter 1

The topic came up, as would be assumed, awkwardly. 

Hopper didn’t expect it at all, lying in bed with Joyce, half dressed in the glow of their embrace, his thoughts melting like honey. Joyce smelled sweet, her hair freshly washed, and skin bare as marble, head resting to his chest as she traced small circles on his soft, doughy stomach with her index finger. Little chills filled his heart, completely at ease with the world.

Then, in the most unforeseen and abrupt manner to the moment, Joyce offered, “Would you… ever wear panties for me?”

Words took a while to form, the shock had to melt away first, and Hopper managed out some confused muttering followed by absolute refusal. No way in hell, chief of police would never, could never, Joyce you’re out of your damn mind. They were both red in the face: Hopper embarrassed out of his mind and Joyce flustered from the thought of him in pink lace panties.

Joyce pinched his stomach amusingly. “You’d look good, Hop, just try it…,” she urged. 

Hopper hadn’t done many kinky things in his life. He had slept around for a year or two in wake of his divorce in attempt to ease the pain of two consecutive loses (his wife then daughter), but most were simple, fuck-and-go one night stands. Hell, the only time he had deviated from traditional sex was when Joyce asked to be handcuffed in the middle of a heated moment. A completely different dynamic than HIM wearing panties; Joyce was the one that was being restrained, submissive, humiliated. 

For him, that was a dynamic best left as it was. 

 

Hopper got home from visiting Eleven in her cabin particularly late that night and all he could think about was getting undressed and sliding into bed. He shuffled down the hall, already undoing his belt buckle and pulling off his holster, and pushed open his door, flicked on the light. He didn’t notice the small, white box wrapped in purple ribbon until he was left standing in his boxers and undershirt. 

It had to be from Joyce. She was the only one who had a spare key to his trailer. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing at the facial hair on his chin that was starting to grown in a bit too thick for his taste. “Don’t be what I think you are,” he whispered to himself. 

It had been a week since Joyce had brought up him wearing panties and he was hoping the whole ordeal was over, though he did burn with untested envy when she had blurted out, “Lonnie did it for me!” in argument.

Regardless, Joyce wasn’t pushing anymore and Hopper was partly relieved, yet still silently disappointed he couldn’t will himself to do what she was asking. God, was he soft in   
that aspect, the desire to move mountains for Joyce Byers always stirring in his chest, do anything she could ask of him. 

Except, apparently, wear feminine underwear. 

He had been sitting there a couple minutes, his hand resting on the lid of the slender paper box, feeling prematurely embarrassed despite having not yet opened it, embarrassed from anticipation and maybe some sort of enticement he didn’t want to name. Some part of him loved the idea of slipping the box under his bed and acting like nothing had ever been there, but of course, the need to please Joyce bared on him as strong as ever, mixed with nervous curiosity. 

Fuck it. 

Hopper plucked off the purple ribbon, letting it fall to the floor, then lifted the cardboard lid to find pink panties tucked between a few layers of tissue paper. There was also a note that read: “Wear me to work tomorrow and get a big surprise :)” written in red crayon. 

He held up the panties by the corner, as if they might burst into flames or poison him on sight. With a face as red as his, he was grateful to be in the privacy of his own bedroom. He turned them over and noticed the large red heart over the crotch, getting his stomach to knot up, a heat rising from his loins. 

He had to admit, they felt soft and smooth in his hands, made of thin silk, and they looked to be his fit. There was going to be shame there, he knew it, if he even tried them on alone. Hopper wasn’t against cross dressing or homosexuality, to each his own, but if anything, he feared what could be said, what might be done if this little thing got out. 

His mind raced to the assassination of Harvey Milk, just a few years back, a subtle tightness winding itself in his chest like a metal coil. Of course, Hopper wasn’t in the same line of power as he had been, nor an openly queer man, but the paranoia was irrational. In such a small town, word moved fast. He wouldn’t be killed, but there would be harassment, rumors, maybe even demotion from rank of chief of police. Crossdresser cop revealed in lewd scandal. It would look fantastic on newspaper print. 

With this fear, however, there was the tingle that came following; the sexual excitement of ‘don’t get caught’ while him and Joyce were being intimate. 

Fuck it (part two).

Hopper stood, let his boxers hit the floor, the lost all steam in his motion, gripping the pink satin with white knuckles and deflating will to put them on. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath then stepped into them, pulled them up to his waist. There wasn’t a mirror in his bedroom so he had to head to the bathroom to even know what he looked like, stand a few feet back from the little medicine cabinet hanging on the wall. 

The contrast of pink on skin made Hopper hyper aware of his body, the shape of himself, the hair on his stomach and chest and thighs. He turned to his side, looked over his shoulder. He had never cared to examine his body like this, not much reason to until now, and the realization of his form was foreign. Even more so when his hips were lined with frilly lace and his (half-hard) cock had a red heart centered over it. 

From the bathroom back to his bedroom, he stepped out of the panties and wriggled back into his boxers. He got in bed with his hands between his legs and jerked himself to sleep, thinking about Joyce teasing him; pumped his fist over his cock until he couldn’t hold back and moaned her name, splattering his upper stomach and chest with cum; wiped himself clean and dozed off to the idea of Joyce watching him do that.


	2. Chapter 2

Hopper got to the station earlier than ever that day. He stopped by the cabin to have a quick breakfast with Eleven and explain that he had a lot of paperwork to sort through, had to get there and get it over with before new reports flooded in. 

Eleven ate her Cheerios in spoonfuls of 5 at a time and nodded along, looking bummed that Hopper had rushed their morning ritual, but not objecting anything. “Movie tonight?” she asked. “Together?”

Hopper nodded, finishing off his coffee and standing to move from the table. “Sure, kid. Movie tonight,” he replied. He palmed the top of her head to ruffle her hair, which was getting longer and curlier by the day (no cut for it in sight), and she smiled into the gesture. 

 

“Mornin’, Flo,” Hopper greeted her as he made his way to the bathroom near his office, not stopping for a doughnut or banana or chit-chat. He was so stressed about the brown paper bag in his right hand, masquerading as a lunch Joyce had packed, all he could think about was being behind a closed door.

Flo informed him about some teenagers jumping fences during the night, and he responded with a dismissive “Mhm, I’m on it,” and she didn’t pursue him any further. 

The lock clicked shut behind him and Hopper let out a breath he had been holding for what seemed like the whole morning, his back pressed to the door as he finally allowed his shoulders to slump. His heart was a jackhammer. It felt like everyone he dared to look in the eyes somehow instinctively knew what he was up to, ashamed and nervous and excited all at once. He was a cocktail of horny, unhinged ambition. 

He undressed below the waist, belt, holster, trousers, finally down to his boxers that he was hesitating taking off, not daring to look at the mirror adjacent to him. 

Just as he was about to trade them for the panties, someone knocked on the door and Hopper scrambled to clench his fist around the handle, bracing himself against it despite knowing it was locked. “Occupied!” he sputtered out. His voice was harsh with panic and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing rigid. 

No reply came and Hopper could hear footsteps trail from the door down the hall, and he let his hand slide off the door handle. His face was flaming red, heart feeling like it had leapfrogged into his throat, pulse steady as a metronome. If every sexual adventure of his life had been like this, he probably would have been dead by 25.

Hopper forced on the panties, dropping his boxers into the little paper bag, and dressed himself as fast he could. The feeling of silk against his skin was accentuated by his pants and he wanted to melt from the newfound smoothness, but he willed his mind into focus; don’t derail, don’t anticipate, don’t think about the pink frills tickling his hips. Harder done than said (no pun intended). 

He smoothed out his hair, double checked to make sure his fly was completely up, then stepped out of the bathroom, immediately veering to his office before anyone could catch his attention. Safe at last. He hid the brown bag in the bottom drawer of his desk and tried to forget about the whole ordeal, and, of course, failing miserably from the thought of Joyce knocking on his door sometime later. 

For now? Shuffle through some reports, check new cases. Pray to God that he didn’t need to go somewhere in town. 

 

 

It was quarter past twelve and Hopper was starting to get anxious, worried that this entire was some outrageous, complex prank being played on him, like at any moment, some newscaster would jump from behind a bookshelf and announce that he was a fool. The Byer children would get out of school in only a few hours and if Joyce was bringing lunch, she usually showed before noon. 

He was about to spark up a cigarette to ice his nerves when a little, timid knock sounded on his door, and the hinges squeaked as it opened to reveal Joyce’s soft, smiling face. 

“Working hard, chief?” she asked, stepping in, a paper bag in her hand, which she shook lightly. “Got time for a lunch break?” 

Despite the sudden jumpstart in his chest, Hopper found his cool and replied, “Always got time for you, darling.”

Joyce locked the door casually before pulling up a seat and beckoning for Hopper to come out from behind his desk and sit in the blue armchair near her, which he was happy to accommodate to. She handed him his lunch and her hand fell to his knee, rubbing there, almost motherly in touch, as if comforting or encouraging him. 

There had never been such a lull between them, no conversation being made. 

Hopper cleared his throat with the intent to at least start something, rather just sitting there and avoiding full eye contact with Joyce, whose hand was still rubbing little  
circles over his knee. “Busy at the shop?” he asked, riffling through the little bag she had brought him, but not finding enough appetite to actually eat anything. 

She shrugged. “Not really. Mind's’ been on something else today…,” she dared. Her upper teeth bared down on her bottom lip to bite away a wiry smile that made a warm feeling pool in Hopper’s stomach. 

“Oh yeah?” he smiled. “What’s that?” He set his lunch on his desk and stood, offering his hand to Joyce in hopes she’d get to her feet, too, which she did, pressing herself to his front as if her job. 

Joyce looked up at him, her head barely reaching to his chest, and his hands cupped her face, thumbing at her cheeks. “Certain police officer… Right here in Hawkins… He’s been chief for a while, you know,” she said, purposefully drawing out her sentences. 

Hopper ducked his head down to plant a soft, chaste kiss to her neck. “Is that right?” he asked. “Must be a pretty lucky guy to have Joyce Byers’ attention.”

“Mmm,” she murmured. Her hand had taken up place on the small of his back and was now trailing downwards, to his belt. “I think he’s going to be extra lucky today…” Her fingers slid into his pants carefully, to find silk, and she pulled back on his waistband, letting go so it slapped him.

A whimper broke from him at the slight sting and he bit his tongue, his head slumping to her shoulder as Joyce giggled. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little bit of a cliffhanger here ;)

**Author's Note:**

> going through some personal stuff at the moment so i feel this is not my best work; feedback is greatly welcomed and my apologizes if updates are slow due to as mentioned personal issues; thank you !


End file.
